Danny Fenton's Day Off
by Lilacspectacles
Summary: For as much crime half ghost teen Danny Fenton has defeated, can he fight off a nasty fever?
1. Danny Fenton's Day Off

A beeping sound rings out filling the previously quiet bedroom, light footsteps echo down the hall, and a woman wearing a bright blue hazmat suit and red goggles walks through the doorway and into her son's room. Making her way swiftly over to the bed that is cradling her ailing son, she sweeps his dark hair off of his sweat dampened forehead and smooths it back. Reaching toward his mouth, she gently removes the thermometer from the teen's mouth and _tsks_ at what she sees displayed on the small, digital screen.

The boy in the bed looks up at her with glazed blue eyes, he opens his mouth to speak "What's the damage, doc?" He croaks out.

"Ninety nine degrees," she replies, "you definitely have a fever."

The distinct thudding sound of heavy footfalls were heard briefly coming down the hallway before a large man with graying, dark hair in an orange hazmat suit appears in the room and joins his wife beside his son "How is he Mads?" His voice is booming, the boy winces slightly.

"Not good Jack, he's got a fever."

"What, Danny-boy has a fever?! Who did it? Was it a ghost?" He demands suspiciously, yelling, the boy's wince is slightly more pronounced this time.

"Dad," Danny says wheezing slightly, "I'm sick, nobody did anything. It happens."

"No ghost is going to make my boy sick and get away with it, to the lab!" Obviously, Danny's statement has been completely ignored, as the man in orange has already sprinted out of the room, and crashing can be heard from downstairs. Jack Fenton is a man with ghosts on the brain after all, once he starts thinking about them he just can't seem to stop. His wife, Maddie Fenton, on the other hand is the more sensible of the two of them. She makes a feeble attempt at stopping him, already knowing it's futile, and turns to her son once her husband has left.

"I'd better go keep him out of trouble," she sighs out, "we'll probably be out for a while, sweetie. There's cold medicine downstairs, I'll send Jazz up here with some before she leaves for school today."

"Already on it, mom." Comes a voice from the doorway, the other occupants of the room glance over to see a tall, slim, redhead standing at the threshold of the room with a tray resting in her hands. On the tray among other medicines and remedies are some apple slices, a cup of steaming tea, a bottle of cough syrup, and cough drops.

"Oh good! Can you take care of your brother before you go? I need to catch up to your father, he is about to go on a wild goose chase and I need to stay with him to make sure he doesn't shoot at something he shouldn't."

"No problem," Jazz starts, but is cut off by her panicked mother.

"Thank you, sweetie! I've got to run, see you both later!" She shouts out, practically down the hall already.

Jasmine Fenton, or Jazz as she preferred to be called, pushes herself away from her flattened position against the wall. Her mom nearly knocked the tray from her hands and onto the floor in her haste to get out of the room. Luckily, Jazz reacted quickly enough and got out of the way before she was covered with scalding tea and cold medicine.

"I can't believe them, being so irresponsible when their son is sick in bed with a fever." She shakes her head as she walks across the room. "It's like they don't even care!" She sets the tray down on the bedside table.

"C'mon Jazz, you know mom and dad, that _is_ their way of caring. Even if it's a little backward." Danny says, defending his parents.

"A _little_ backward? More like _completely_ backward! They should be here, with you, caring for you, not out hunting the ghost responsible for getting you sick. Who, by the way, doesn't even _exist_. You have been showing symptoms of being sick for days, and they never even noticed." Danny stays as quiet as he possibly can, in hopes he won't be dragged into his sister's tirade, "and _you_ ," too late, "you should have listened to me when I told you to ease up on the late night ghost fighting!" She points her finger at him in her frustration.

"I can't just not fight ghosts, Jazz," he coughs out her name, "Amity Park would be in ruins if I didn't, it's my job. There have been six ghost attacks just in the past three days. What was I supposed to do, sit around and let them terrorize the city?"

"Yes," Danny raises an eyebrow at that statement, "Tucker, Sam, and I could have handled the ghost attacks while you fought off your oncoming fever."

"You know how I feel about you guys fighting ghosts without me."

"Of course I do but, sometimes you need to worry about yourself, little brother, not everyone else." Her tone is almost motherly.

He rasps out a hum in response, Jazz glances at the digital clock on the bedside table and sighs "I need to get going. Take your medicine, Danny, and don't even think about getting out of this bed. Do you hear me?"

A reluctant nod is her response and is apparently enough to satisfy her, because she turns to leave throwing a glance over her shoulder. Moments later the front door is opened and shut with a quiet click; Danny is now all alone in the big house. What will he do? He coughs violently, taking his medicine sounds like a good idea right about now. Reaching over to the tray beside him, he grabs the cough syrup and spoon, pops off the cap, and takes a spoonful of the horrid, purple liquid. _Grape, my ass,_ he thinks to himself, looking at the bottle through his grimace, _do the people who make this stuff even know what fruit tastes like?_ He shudders at the after taste. _Obviously not._

He sits up in his bed and leans back on the headboard, and grabs the mug of tea from the tray. Blowing on the rising steam, he sips on the tea, attempting to get the remains of the awful flavor out of his mouth. _It's peppermint_ , he notes idly. Danny's eyes meet the wall, and stare at it dazedly, he gets the feeling like he's forgetting something. A mouthful of tea is half way down his throat when he remembers, _Tucker and Sam! I need to tell them I won't be coming to school today!_ For a reason entirely unrelated to his sore throat a whole new fit of coughing to bursts from his mouth. He whacks a fist against his chest while trying to take deep breaths. Swallowing hot tea down the wrong way tends to burn quite a bit.

The coughing stops after several long moments, and while wiping a tear from his eye Danny reaches for his cell phone on the table nearby. After unplugging it, and checking for any messages or missed calls, he dials Sam's number. It hardly rings once before she picks up "Danny! Where the hell are you? You're an hour late for school, we thought you were dead!" Okay, so maybe it wasn't Sam.

"Tucker, give me my damn phone!" He hears being yelled from the background, followed by some muffled scratching noises, and crackling screeches. Danny holds the phone away from his ear, while he waits for their scuffle to end. This goes on for several minutes, until there is a sound that is eerily similar to dying dolphin, followed by whimpering and panting breaths.

"Danny? Are you still there?" Sam huffs out, as Danny presses the phone back to his ear again.

"I think I am," he chuckles, and then breaks out into light coughs, "ah sorry about that."

"What's he saying?" Tucker moans out in pain.

"Shut up Tucker." Sam snaps.

"Put it on speaker, Sam?" Tucker nearly begs.

"Fine." She sighs.

"Can both of you hear me?" Danny clears his throat.

"Yeah." They both chime.

"Where have you been, Danny?" Tucker asks with more than a little concern in his voice.

"Home, I'm sick."

"Sick?! Can you even get sick? You're half ghost!" Tucker squawks.

"I don't know Tuck, I guess I can. I was just calling to let you guys know that I'm not dead in an alley somewhere. Or, uh, more dead than I already am."

"Are you feeling okay?" Sam asks worriedly.

"I'll let you know when my brain isn't trying to escape my head. I will definitely not be leaving the house today, though. Hell, I might not leave tomorrow either."

"Geez dude, are you that sick?"

"Yeah Tucker, I have a ninety nine degree fever. I haven't felt this warm since before my ice core activated. It's weird and... Sweaty."

"Gross man."

"I don't even want to know how this fever might affect my powers." Danny says getting caught in the thought.

"That could be bad... What about your parents?" Sam asks.

"They're nothing to worry about, I'll be home alone all day. My dad got it into his head that I'm sick because of some ghost and ran out of the house, and my mom followed him to keep him out of trouble."

"That's really irresponsible of them."

"You sound like my sister, Sam." Danny chuckles.

"Well she wouldn't be wrong." Sam counters.

Danny sighs, "I think it goes without saying that I won't be on ghost duty for a couple of days. Would you guys mind-"

"You don't even have to ask, man." Tucker cuts him off.

"Yeah, we're on it Danny, you just focus on getting better."

"Okay, Sam."

"And if I catch you out fighting ghosts, I will trap you in a Fenton Thermos and drag you back to bed myself. Got it?"

"Yes, Sam." Danny's voice shakes slightly.

"Good. Tucker and I will take notes for you."

"Thanks you guys."

"No problem, dude!" Tucker chimes.

"We'll stop by after school."

"Right, see you then." Danny ends the call.

 _Well that's taken care of,_ he deflates with a sigh of relief and ponders what he should do for the rest of the day. The thought of watching some TV in the living room downstairs crosses his mind, and he decides it's a good idea. After kicking his covers off, he tries to lift himself out of bed, the world tilts a bit and Danny wonders when his room got to be so blue. He falls back into bed having been struck with a brief, but intense, spell of lightheadedness. Scratch that, TV is a bad idea. _Okay so, I can add moving to the list of things I won't be doing today._ It seems as though, whether he wants to or not, Danny will do as his sister told him and not leave his bed. He buries his face into his pillow, and a groan of frustration wracks another coughing fit from his raw throat.

"I'm stuck in a spiraling vortex of boredom and suffering." His voice is muffled as he whines into his pillow. He turns over onto his back, "Like seriously! I can fight ghosts practically in my sleep, but I can't fight the damn sniffles!" Danny feels like he wants to scream, in fact he does, and then coughs right in the middle of it; the ceiling is met with a scathing glare.

"I'm cursed, that _must_ be it. I am cursed," He laughs bitterly, "first I'm turned half ghost, then I have every hunter and my mother after me, now I have a fever. What next?" Abruptly, a shudder travels up his spine, and a wisp of frosty breath crawls out of his mouth.

"Are you shitting me."

The room drops in temperature, it isn't an obvious change if you aren't looking for it, but it's change enough to give one the feeling that something is amiss. It is a feeling Danny knows all too well. Cackling starts to ricochet off of the walls, and the sickly teen tenses in anticipation from his bed. In the center of the room a towering figure gradually fades into existence, leering down at the helpless boy in his bed; the being is assessing his prey.

"Ghost child," the faint sound of mechanical whirs follow his statement, "are you ready to become my newest trophy?"

The ghost child in question pinches the bridge of his nose, "Not today Skulker," he interrupts himself with yet another cough, "I'm sick. I can't even stand much less fight you right now."

"I wasn't aware a halfling like yourself could get sick."

"Well apparently I can. I have a fever," if Danny is sick of anything, it's explaining himself, "and your voice is making my head hurt worse than it already is."

Skulker examines the young halfa more closely, the room is quiet for a beat, "You must be ill if you look this awful."

" _Thanks_."

"How am I supposed to take your pelt with you looking this way?"

"I have an idea: _don't."_

"And why would I do that? I have you exactly where I want you."

"You've already answered your own question; because I wouldn't make very attractive décor right now. And what fun would you have attacking me today anyway? I'm completely defenseless."

The hunter considers his prey's statement with a long hum, "I suppose I can leave you be this once, however next time, there will be no mercy."

" _Joy."_

"Be ready, whelp." Skulker disappears just as quickly as he appeared.

"That was almost too easy." Danny mutters to himself, the room now vacant as it was before, he waits a moment before he lets his guard drop. Minutes pass and nothing of note happens, but knowing better than to drop his guard so quickly, he waits anxiously for something to go wrong. Danny sits up in his bed and gives the room a thorough twice over, holding his breath. The room regains its warmth and all remains quiet, as he leans back against his pillows. Thinking it to be safe he releases a sigh of relief, only for another puff of icy blue breath to escape from his mouth "Are. You. Shitting. Me." He tips his head back and groans with all of his might, resisting the coughs that tried to claw their way from his throat.

The room grows cold once more, while one spot toward the center of the room suspiciously clings to its heat. Yet, through it all Danny's face remains skyward with the remnants of a groan pouring from his mouth.

"Hey dipstick, I heard you were under the weather."

The aforementioned dipstick ignores the ghost in the middle of his bedroom in hopes that she might go away.

"Listen bub, you'd better not be ignoring me," she says irritably when she receives no response, "I was planning on paying you a peaceful visit, but I might have to give you a reason to pay attention to me if you don't quit it." She slowly reaches for the strap of the guitar she has on her back.

"What do you want, Ember?" Even with his eyes closed, he can easily place her slightly gravely voice.

"Nothin' much," she shrugs and lowers her hand, "I just wanted to see for myself if the great and mighty Phantom was really down with the sniffles."

"Well you've seen me," he rolls his head to look at her, "will that be all?"

"Maybe. I might just want to stay here and bug you all day. That's always a good time."

"A good time for me maybe, our encounters usually end with you trapped in a Fenton Thermos." He pauses, having just thought of something, "Can I ask why you and Skulker don't seem nearly as aggressive as usual today? I mean, here I am, weak and ripe for skinning or whatever it is your boyfriend wants to do to me, and neither of you have done a thing."

Her response is automatic, "Because it wouldn't be as fun. You're half the reason any of us attack this dumb town anymore."

"You're kidding right?"

"Nope. Watching you scramble around is extremely entertaining."

"So, you're telling me that you guys terrorize my town because you get a sick enjoyment from making me suffer?"

"Did I stutter?"

Danny had an inkling that might have been the case but, he never thought it was so deliberate. It occurs to him that he has gotten himself stuck in a vicious cycle. If he quits protecting the town to make the ghosts lose interest in it, the town will not only be without its first line of defense, but the ghosts will attack it more to draw him out. His life is a literal joke, and a bunch of ghosts are yucking it up at his expense. _Absolutely wonderful, could this day get any better? Wait, no, I don't want an answer to that question._

"Don't look so down, baby pop," she soothes sardonically, "we're dead, practically anything is more amusing than floating around in the Ghost Zone. We've just got a special affection for you."

"That's just _dandy_."

"Isn't it though?"

Danny isn't the type to believe in past lives but, with becoming a halfa and dealing with ghosts on a regular basis, that belief easily came into question. Surely, such a thing is possible, because there's no way he could be condemned with such horrible luck without having done something terrible in a past life. _What could I have possibly have done to deserve this?_ His train of thought barrels off course for several minutes, until he realizes something.

"Hold on a second, how did you hear I was sick so quickly?"

"Besides the fact that the ghost who found out was my boyfriend, there's the fact that the ghost who found out was _my boyfriend._ He can't keep his yap shut, the whole Ghost Zone knows, dipstick." Danny looks like he wants to scream again, "Like I said, we don't have a lot better to do, so news travels fast there."

Danny curses quietly, "Am I going to have to deal with ghosts popping in on me all day?"

"Probably." She shrugs, and tips back to float as if she were laying down on her back with her hands behind her head and her legs crossed. She looks as if she's on a hammock.

"Will all of them care as little as you and Skulker do about attacking me?"

"Who knows?"

"That's reassuring." He begins to panic when he realizes what a sick day really means for him and his town, "What about the town? And my friends? Will they be okay?"

"What do I look like to you, the gossip mill? I don't know, and I don't care."

"Aren't you helpful."

"I'm not here to be helpful," she shifts back up into an upright position with her hands on her hips, "just 'cause I called us even after the Pariah incident, doesn't mean we're best pals, and it doesn't mean I have to help you, either."

"Right, okay," he tries to placate her when he notices her hair had began to flare up, "Okay, I know."

She harrumphs, "Yeah, well, whatever. I'm gonna go, dipstick." Danny's ghost sense goes off again, "Looks like you have another guest to see to anyway." She smirks and phases through his wall, lazily waving as she leaves.

A small, green puppy appears in her place, Danny feels his shoulders slump in relief. "So you heard I was sick too, huh? Did you come to cheer me up?" He smiles.

The pup yaps and scrambles over to the bed, jumps up onto it, and settles himself on the young teen's chest, and begins to lick Danny's face liberally "Ah, Cujo!" Try as he might he could not deter the dog's excitement. "Cujo, down boy!" He manages to hug the squirming green ball of energy to his chest with one arm, and with the other he wipes his face, "Ew, ecto-slobber."

Danny's own excitement stirs up a new flurry of coughs, and the pup peers up at him. Cujo settles into anxiousness, and begins to paw at his friend's abdomen, whimpering in worry.

Danny strokes the dog behind his ears, trying to offer him comfort, "Hey, I'm okay buddy." He smiles reassuringly, "How'd you get here? Huh?" He coos softly.

Danny's hand jostles Cujo's collar, and he hears a something crinkle. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he pats around the dog's neck to find the source of it. He feels something of a different texture beneath his fingers and hears that crinkling sound again. Pinching at what he found, Danny pulls it gently from Cujo's collar and examines it. _A paper?_ Cujo uses his muzzle to nudge him, looking at the teen encouragingly, silently urging him to unfold the paper. If only to quell his own curiosity and to calm his furry friend down, he does. He reads the writing he finds on the sheet of folded, and somewhat chilled, paper with a furrowed brow.

 _Great One,_

 _I hope this message finds you well and in a timely manner. We of Far Frozen have heard of your poor health, and send our wishes for your successful recovery. We send also, a companion in the form of this small specter. You had mentioned such a pup before had you not? Recover quickly Daniel, and visit us soon,_

 _-Frostbite Of Far Frozen_

A small smile creases his face as Danny scans over the sharp signature at the bottom of the message. He feels a warm sensation spill through his stomach at the thoughtfulness of his friend, surely he would be paying Frostbite a visit as soon as he is able to stand without the threat of fainting. The fuzzy bundle in his arms yaps quietly, nuzzling at his hand, Danny glances down at Cujo and smirks with obvious warmth. Cujo attempts to move Danny's stalled hand back into scratching at that spot behind his ear. Danny watches in amusement for a moment before he gives in and does what's desired of him. If a dog could purr Cujo would be absolutely shaking right about now.

He absentmindedly continues running his fingers through Cujo's short fur as he contemplates what he should do for the rest of the day – which isn't much – Danny glances over at the clock and finds to his surprise that it's already past eleven. Seconds later his stomach also notifies him of the time, and Cujo perks up slightly from his spot on Danny's abdomen having heard it loud and clear. Reaching for the tray beside him, Danny grabs the plate of apple slices and begins munching on his snack. It only takes a minute before he has scarfed down the chilled fruit, and he finds that he is still hungry.

"Well shit," Cujo's ear twitches at him, "looks like I'm gonna starve, buddy."

Cujo only cocks his head and yips at him, obviously not understanding. Danny is very stuck, being hungry and having learned his lesson about trying to stand leaves him out of options. _I could call for takeout,_ he reaches for his phone before he realizes that he would still have to get up to answer the door and his hand stops short. Danny wracks his brain for ideas, nearly laughing at the idea of his parents actually picking up the phone during a ghost hunt, his friends wouldn't have time to drop by, and just thinking about standing again makes him cringe. He has no shortage of ideas, but executing them successfully is an entirely different story.

At that point, his stomach feels it should remind him of his dilemma again "Shut up, you." He scolds his rebellious gut, how dare it be hungry.

He figures he could try sleeping off his hunger, it's certainly better than starving for another three and a half hours until his sister got home. Deciding that this is the best course of action, Danny gently shifts a dozing Cujo off of his chest and turns over to face the wall his bed was pushed against, and shuts his eyes. Beneath his lowered eyelids with nothing to focus on but darkness, Danny's fever is more apparent than it was before. His muddled, feverish mind feels like it's sloshing around in his skull and it nearly makes him seasick with how much the room feels to be rocking. He struggles to keep his head above the waves of his nauseating mental tide of thoughts that threaten to drown him in their nonsensical magnitude. There is no doubt that his empty stomach is to blame for the queasy and unpleasant feeling that riddles his body.

Having given up completely on the thought of getting any rest, Danny cracks his eyes open and turns over to squint at the ceiling. With his stomach loud and his head heavy, he considers his options and decides to do what his hunger tells him is best; so begins attempt two of standing. The first thing his diseased brain comes up with to avoid the woozy sensation he'd be sure to feel is to roll himself off the bed. Being desperate and with only half of his wits about him, he does just that, landing with a wince. The cold, unforgiving wood floor of his room while not a good cushion does make a wonderful means of cooling his heated body. He touches his forehead to the cool surface, allowing himself a minute of rest.

Cujo, who had been roused from his brief nap, peeks over the edge of the bed to peer down at the motionless body on the floor. The fur ball decides to make the only rational choice which is, of course, to follow his friend's example. A weight slams onto Danny's spine and knocks the wind out of him; if he hadn't felt lousy before he certainly does now. Cujo, on the other hand, is extremely pleased with his soft landing, and the squishy warmth beneath his paws. While the pup trots in place upon his back, Danny wills himself to stop seeing double, finding it extremely difficult to catch his breath with an excited puppy doing a jig on his spine. Strength isn't something Danny has much of, especially not in the position he's in at the moment, so Cujo continues to use his body as a dance mat for several painful moments while Danny regains his bearings.

Reaching around his shoulder he pats around for Cujo's collar and gives it a gentle tug, leading the dog off of his back. Danny huffs and puffs his way into a sitting position and leans back on his bed. Cujo runs around his feet, yapping away in a manner that could be considered urging, while pulling at his friend's pant leg. Danny chuckles breathily and braces himself up against his bed frame, slowly easing himself into a stand. _So far so good,_ he thinks as he cautiously strides over to the open door of his room. He keeps his hand trailing along the wall while he walks wobbly toward the stairs at the end of the hallway. Cujo waddles a few steps behind him as quietly as a puppy can manage, focused as he is on being quiet, he bumps into the backs of Danny's calves when he comes to a stop at the top of the stairs. With his right hand firmly grasping the railing, Danny slowly descends to the first floor step by step.

When his feet touch the wood floor of his living room, Danny lets out a gushing breath of relief, "Well that ordeal's over," he turns to Cujo who is watching from one of the bottom few stairs, "we did it buddy!" The little specter catches his friend's excitement and wiggles around on his perch, "High five!" Danny offers his open palm to the pup, and receives an enthusiastic pat from a small, green padded paw in return.

He scoops his little friend up into his arms, and carries Cujo the rest of the way to the kitchen. All the while, Cujo licks at the hands cradling him and Danny does his best not to drop the squirming fur ball. Once the pair reach the kitchen the pup is gently placed on the floor and left to his own devices while Danny rummages through the cupboards. There is nothing behind a couple of half empty cereal boxes in one, and hardly anything but canned beans and seasoning in another. Things are looking grim for food choices; Danny's last hope lies, with any luck, in the fridge. With his fingers crossed and his eyes closed, he opens the fridge and feels a chill from the opened door. One eye squints open followed by the other, and Danny is greeted with the sight of mostly bare shelves. He blinks once, twice, not believing the mirage in front of him, he sticks his head into the chill of the fridge searching for some invisible corner filled with nonexistent food.

Several silent, baffled moments pass before, "What the hell?!" Danny bursts.

He knows without a doubt his mom got groceries a few days ago, and they had plenty of food just last night. _So where did all of the food go?_ His body jostles slightly and he hears panting at his feet, he looks over his shoulder and finds Cujo nuzzling his legs. Danny tries to shoo him away so that he could solve this mystery without interruption, when it hits him: his parents are ghost hunting scientists. _They must have contaminated the food with their experiments again._ He curses his parents' profession, and his rotten luck with all of his breath. The idea of takeout begins to sound like his best option, and so he reaches to pull out his phone from his pocket... and finds nothing.

"Damn it all," he had left his phone in his room and retrieving in it in the state he's in does not sound like a good idea.

He sighs in defeat, drags himself over to the kitchen table, pulls out a chair and practically throws himself into it. The wood of the table feels cold on his forehead; Danny groans at it. Cujo weaves figure eights around and between his legs, yapping his encouragement at his friend. The longer he sits there, the more the room sways, and Danny becomes even more nauseated. He is so out of it, he doesn't even notice the icy breath that puffs from his mouth, and if he did notice, he wouldn't have had the energy to care. The distant sound of clattering reaches his ears, and he lifts his head when he hears a muffled _thump_ from in front of him. What he sees could only be described as a vision of beauty, it must be real, it can't not be. Before him sits a bowl of chili and a slice of corn bread, accompanied by a tall glass of apple juice. The steam rising from the bowl washes his face with warmth and fills his nose with its delectable aroma, Danny can feel his mouth water. What merciful entity could have blessed him with such a glorious gift?

"Well don't just look at it, dearie," a voice warbles from across the table, "you're a growing boy, not to mention a sick one. You need to eat your **meat**."

Danny glances up and meets the eyes of the Lunch Lady, he takes a long moment to gather his wits, being thoroughly confused by her sudden appearance. Danny tenses instinctively but is taken off guard when she continues to smile encouragingly at him, and so he does the only sane thing he could think of doing in such a situation: he laughs.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" Danny gasps through his chuckles, "I must be, because there is absolutely no way this could ever happen in reality."

Through it all, the elderly woman specter shows no visible reaction but a raised eyebrow, "You aren't dead, dearie, or at least not yet. That is why you must **eat!** " Her voice and appearance flicker briefly from a sweet old woman, to the terror she is.

Leaning back in his chair, Danny takes a few gasping breaths to calm himself. The Lunch Lady watches in mild amusement, and finally the young halfa is able to meet her gaze. For a beat, they stare each other down; one questioningly, the other patiently.

"Wait, you're serious?" He gestures to the food.

She raises her eyebrow higher and her lips draw into a straight line; her expression portrays a resounding _duh_ , "Your soup is getting cold."

The meal couldn't have looked more appealing, the smell alone is enough for Danny to almost instantly wipe away his doubts. Gulping visibly, he lifts a shaky hand to the spoon in front of him, dips it into the chili, and shuttles it to his mouth. He closes his eyes and moans in appreciation of the flavor and the feeling of his stomach becoming a little less empty. It's heavenly. Hardly five minutes pass before half of the bowl is gone, he's shoving corn bread into his mouth taking chomping bites of it. Danny doesn't even care that the chili is a little too hot; he chugs the glass of apple juice every other bite. There is absolutely no feeling quite like that of a full stomach.

Once he's done ravaging his food, Danny pushes his dishes away from him and gulps down the last of the apple juice. He lays his face onto the table top, slamming his cup down as he went. Stomach finally full, and completely contented Danny lets out a satisfied sigh. Lunch Lady is both mystified and entertained by the display, and she can't help but giggle softly to herself. The sound catches the attention of the boy slumped over the table and he straightens up quickly, having almost entirely forgotten about his guest.

Danny fumbles for a few seconds to successfully get some words out of his mouth, before finally managing something intelligible, "Ah, thanks Lunch Lady."

"It wasn't a problem, dear child," she says in a deceptively sweet tone, "I merely want you better so that I can fight you again soon. After all, you can't heal on an empty stomach."

Danny chuckles uncomfortably, but smiles nonetheless, he thanks her again awkwardly before she takes her leave. He is left alone again in the big house, _or almost alone_ Danny mends to himself after receiving a tug on his pant leg by his over eager four legged friend.

With one of his major problems taken care of, he can finally deal with his second major issue: boredom. At this point that's a fairly easy fix, being downstairs meant that he could watch TV. Using his toes, Danny nudges Cujo away from his feet and tries to ease himself out of his chair. That, of course, causes the pup to think it's playtime and Danny finds his toes being nipped at while he makes a valiant attempt at not tripping. He barely manages to grip the table before he hit the floor; the table screeches at being pulled by his weight. Cujo stops short of tackling Danny's foot and backs away, dropping his head in apology after finding himself at the receiving end of a exasperated glare.

Righting himself, and pushing in his chair, Danny ambles his way into the living room. He swipes the remote off of the coffee table along the way, and plops onto the couch, flicking the TV on as he settles. The TV is blaringly loud. Danny physically leans away from the noise, fumbling with the remote, and turns the volume down from a blasting forty two to a more agreeable twenty one. _Dad must have been watching a Packers' game recently,_ Danny rubs his aching ears in thought, _really it's a miracle he hasn't gone deaf yet._

Being that the couch facing the TV isn't very long, and Danny isn't as short as he used to be, most of the positions he can take to fit lying down on it usually involve him curled up in some way. Which, really, doesn't matter much to him; it's comfortable for him like that. He flicks through the channels, finding little less than game shows, sitcoms, soap operas, and children's programming. He checks his favorite channels again, and even flicks through every channel on their cable block for good measure, and comes up with hardly more than he did before.

"I had almost forgotten how uninteresting daytime TV is," he grumbles to himself, and finally settles on a rerun marathon of an 80's sitcom.

The story-line is a trite but true, family friendly sort of feel good fest, with morals and corny humor around every corner. Danny tunes in mid episode, when a small blonde girl had just made a right mess of the family room, surely hijinks shall ensue. Whimpering from across the room draws Danny's attention away from the screen. He glances over the arm of the couch and sees a very dejected looking Cujo, giving Danny his best puppy dog eyes as a means of an apology. Cujo's still down on himself about accidentally tripping him in the kitchen, and Danny feels a mild flutter of guilt in his gut for being a little hard on him moments ago. Giving Cujo a warm smile, Danny beckons him over with a wave of his hand. With a cock of the head and a few blinks, Cujo bounds across the room, tongue lolled out and cheerful, as if he wasn't upset seconds before.

Cujo puts his front paws on the edge of the couch near Danny's face and balances up onto his hind legs, with his head peeking over the couch, he gives a long, wet lick to his friend's cheek and yaps joyfully. Danny laughs and gently pats the pup on his head, wiping the dog slobber off of his face with his sleeve on his free hand. Cujo decides to join his friend on the couch, hopping up he settles down in the nook created by Danny's curled position on the couch between his thighs and his stomach. Circling several times and settling he lets out a grunting, groan of a sigh and nudges the warm abdomen he's leaned against. Danny similes fondly at Cujo and rests his hand on Cujo's back, absently rubbing the spot under his fingers as he turns his head back toward the cheesy sitcom in front of him. Looks like the wacky uncle is trying to smooth over an argument with awful jokes and meager advice, _Maybe I could take his input a little more seriously if he didn't have his hand up a woodchuck puppet's butt._

From episode to episode, Danny can feel his eyes growing dryer and dryer, he blinks longer in attempt to wet them but to no avail, this only makes his eyelids heavier and he begins to nod off. He honestly can't remember how many episodes he's watched. What was he on now? His fourth or his sixth? His drowsy brain can't conjure a coherent thought at this point, much less try to count. The sounds around him grow muffled like he has his head under water, and everything his tired eyes see blurs together. He blinks again, trying to make the world come back into focus, but his eyes stay closed. Using every ounce of strength he has, Danny tries to force them open but he just can't; and besides, the picnic with his friends he sees behind his eyelids is far more appealing than the corny sitcom beyond them. He thinks he'll stay for a while, and share a lunch with his two best friends.

Boy and dog are fast asleep on the couch, the sitcom offering itself as white noise to the scene. Shuddering in his sleep, Danny breathes out a blue misty breath, but he's far too busy with his friends in the land of nod to wake up. A swirling vortex opens by the hands of a clock, and the serene presence that always follows Clockwork, ghost of time, trails behind him as he exits the portal. His face elderly, and his smile grandfatherly, as he gazes down at the young halfa and his small green charge. He notices a slight shivering tremble in the boy's shoulders, and his eyebrows knit together. A deep blue blanket is conjured from thin air, and spread over the boy's curled form. From beneath it, a furred head peeps out, the now round and chubby face of a child puts a finger to his mischievous smirk and winks. Cujo copies the wink as best as he can in return and cuddles back down under the fluffy blanket, snuggling back into Danny's stomach with a sigh. Grinning at his handy work, the child ancient exits from the same portal he had entered from, leaving the room otherwise unchanged.

The blanket covering him slips slightly over the next half an hour, and Danny clings to Cujo in search of it. In his sleep he dreams of wonderful things: he dreams of days with little ghost activity and a world without Plasmius. He dreams of his friends and family and lockers whose favorite meals are a certain blonde jock. His lips quirk in contentment; perhaps this sick day hadn't been as bad as he thought it would be.

 _edited: 8-7-16_

 _edited: 9-25-16._


	2. Bonus Chapter

When the front door of Fenton Works creaks open, the sleeping teen on the couch nearby doesn't even twitch. He's been asleep for at least an hour by this point, and his fever ridden brain just can't bother to alert him to the company he'd just gained. The little ghost pup nuzzled into his torso, however, does notice and he wakes drowsily to give a quiet yip of greeting to those he recognizes as friendly and familiar faces. The noise is enough to grab the attention of the group of people at the door, who'd just finished toeing their shoes off. Generally speaking, it isn't common practice for Sam and Tucker to remove their shoes when they came to visit the Fenton Residence, but it had started raining on the way there from school. Jazz, on the other hand, makes a habit of not tracking dirt in her room, and she certainly doesn't want mud covering the floor she had just cleaned yesterday.

The yip from seconds ago directs Jazz's attention to the loveseat. Taking note of the lump on the couch, Jazz can just scantily see from her current vantage point, she gathers that it must be her brother.

Playing the part of a good older sister, Jazz hushes her brother's two friends when they start a mild fuss over who would get to see their friend first. A slight chill falls over her as she pads over to the couch, and she stops short at the sight she's greeted with. Her hand flies to her mouth in an attempt to physically hold in the squeal that almost escaped her, and she has to look away to avoid the impulsive giggles that are threatening to gush from her throat. Cujo cocks his head at the strange behavior of his friend's kin, and – by the looks of it – seems worried about her choice of actions, but he doesn't move to investigate further being perfectly comfortable where he is.

Sam and Tucker look at each other, raising an eyebrow at Jazz's odd little performance. They'd been mid stride over to where she's standing, when a muffled squeak popped from her mouth and effectively stopped them short. Neither of them understand what's making her struggle to hold in her laughter until they come close enough to peek over the arm of the loveseat. Sam just manages to hold in a similar reaction, but feels a distinct heat rise to her cheeks despite her attempts to beat the warmth down. Tucker, however, has no trouble snapping an unnecessary amount of pictures from various angles. He tucks them away for blackmail material later as he chuckles evilly to himself. Oh yes, what a wonderful friend he is.

On the couch lies a napping Danny, curled tightly around a distractedly vigilant Cujo who appears to have been asleep only moments before. Danny's hair is ruffled, his face is flushed, and he seems entirely unperturbed by the TV playing reruns of a sitcom from the eighties just feet away. Jazz, Tucker, and Sam take a brief second to thank every force they can think of that they'd made it back before Jack and Maddie did. It would have been an absolute disaster if they found their son cuddling with a ghost in their house. Sick or no, they would have forced Danny into quarantine and endless tests, and captured Cujo for experiments.

It takes a moment but, Jazz manages to snap herself out of her giggly daze as she notices something odd. (Which is strangely not the ghost dog her brother is content to snuggle with). She leans closer, eyes slightly narrowed as she scans over the scene with a more critical eye. What is it that's nagging at her so much? She can't quite but her finger on it. Sam and Tucker stop chuckling at the trail of drool coming from their friend's mouth at the notice of Jazz's sudden silence, and knit their eyebrows together at her curious behavior. Narrowed eyes widen when she finally realizes what it is that caught her unconscious attention: the blanket. She has no memory of ever seeing that blanket in the house before. Her mind begins to race, surely it can 't be that important, but with her brother she'd learned long ago that every detail in his life is significant in some way no matter how small.

So where had the blanket come from?

She turns to her brother's friends, questioning look firmly in place, "Have either of you seen that blanket before?"

They glance at each other, then her with a look that spoke volumes of how sane they think she is for asking such an odd question.

They answer together, "Uh no," and it almost comes out as a question.

"Why is it important?" Tucker asks.

"I'm not quite sure," Jazz's replies softly, speaking almost entirely to herself and then continues more loudly to them, "but I can't shake the feeling that it must be significant in some way. You know how things are with him."

They do, probably better than she does, and her comment brings about a string of their own questions. The unimposing dark blue, lilac stitched, fuzzy fabric suddenly becomes the subject of the scrutiny and concerns of all present.

They stand quietly crowding the couch for a moment, before Jazz figures she won't get much thinking done half hungry. She turns and walks to the kitchen, leaving her brother's friends to ponder while she goes to grab her daily after school snack. The air is cool in the kitchen as she strides over to the fridge, and she uses that moment to skim over her surroundings, taking idle note of what she sees. She thinks little of the dishes on the table before she opens the refrigerator and remembers her parents' failed experiment last night. She does two things: first, she almost smacks herself for not remembering and leaving her brother to fend for himself, and second, her eyes snap to the innocent dishes on the table that definitely weren't there this morning. She takes two large steps over to them and examines them closely, finding that they smell faintly of cumin and cayenne, two spices she knows her mother hasn't bought in months. If she was suspicious of something peculiar happening in her absence before, she's sure of it now.

Something had happened, but what?

Jazz rushes up to Danny's room, completely sure that she'd find another clue there. Tucker and Sam follow her, curious as to what got her so worked up. When she reaches his room, Tucker and Sam not far behind, a mild chill settles over them as she gives the space a scrutinizing once and twice over. Jazz's eyebrows knit together when nothing jumps out as particularly out of place. She'd been so sure...

Sam nudges her in the side with her elbow, and Jazz looks over to her with an inquiring look, before she notices that both Sam and Tucker have their heads tilted back with their eyes on the ceiling. She follows their line of sight until she sees what caught their attention.

"Are those scorch marks?" Jazz asks rhetorically.

Of course they are, and she doesn't need the nods she receives in response from Sam and Tucker to know that. Jazz is baffled for a few fleeting seconds, before it hits her like a smack to the face. She'd thought that the chill of the house had to do with a possible issue with the heater again, but when she really thinks about it, it's only cool in a few parts of the house. For the second time in the span of ten minutes Jazz nearly smacks herself. Ghosts. Of course, it's always ghosts.

She turns heel and marches back down to her sleeping brother, Sam and Tucker in toe, while she runs through her thoughts with a fine tooth comb. Ghosts, then it was ghosts, but why wasn't the house wrecked? She glares at her brother when she comes to a stop near the couch; he'd better not have disobeyed her. Jazz shakes off the thought, no, even if Danny had engaged the ghosts there would be more evidence of them being here. There hadn't even been an attack on the rest of the town while Danny was out of commission and – considering that the attacks have been becoming more and more frequent recently – it can't have been a coincidence.

But the facts still don't line up.

It's the perfect opportunity for the ghosts to cause chaos entirely uninterrupted, what, with Danny being ill... Wait. Danny has a fever, ghosts were in the house, the house wasn't destroyed, and there were no attacks during school. Jazz looks at Cujo appraisingly as she speculates, he tilts his head at her and his tongue lolls out of his mouth has he pants quietly. It just doesn't make any sense, it's almost as if...

The ghosts were bored without someone to fight.

That's it, it has to be. They came to bother him while he could do next to nothing about it, and got so desperate for someone to fight that they actually decided to help him get better sooner. It's completely asinine and makes less than no sense, but when she thinks about some of Danny's enemies, it doesn't seem all that implausible.

Jazz snorts, of course this sort of thing would happen to her little brother. She wouldn't be surprised if Clockwork himself were in on it. She glances at the blanket, her lip twitches, and she guffaws out a laugh. Sam and Tucker look almost concerned for her mental health by this point. They can't help but be extremely confused as they watch her support herself on the arm of the couch, clutching her stomach while she laughs, desperately trying to keep from waking Danny. Meanwhile, Jazz is beside herself at the mental image she just got of Clockwork reading her baby brother a bedtime story, and tucking him in for a nap. And the dishes in the kitchen. There's no other ghost she can think of that's affiliated with cooking like the Lunch Lady is, and just the thought of her blowing the steam off of a spoonful of soup as she feeds it to Danny is enough to send the redhead to her knees in laughter.

It's just so _ridiculous._

The best part of it though, is that it's so utterly _typical_ too. What has her life become if this is considered almost ordinary? Ghosts nursing her little brother back to health, yeah sure, totally normal. Jazz wonders what she would have thought of such an idea a few years ago.

Balderdash, is what.

Sam and Tucker are still staring at her when she finally turns her attention to them. She nearly starts laughing after she sees the kind of looks they're giving her.

"You guys are going to love this," Jazz breathes out as she begins to tell them what she had discovered, not even bothering to pick herself up from the floor. She isn't done laughing, not by a long shot. They would definitely get a chuckle out of this one, she's sure of it.

* * *

 _Thank you to the many people who read this story! I've had a few people ask me if I would ever consider writing more of this fic, and I decided I would if enough people read it, and I'm happy to announce that, that goal was reached recently. Also, I needed a quick break from working on my other fic, by writing something a little lighter to keep my creativity flowing. I do hope this was able to meet your expectations, and would love to hear your feed back! Feel free to point out any mistakes to help me improve upon this work. Until next time,_

 _-Rookie (LS)_

 _I recently changed my account name, just so everyone is aware. Rookthepawn is no more, Lilacspectacles has taken its place._

 _Here's a song I've been enjoying lately:_

Mystery Skulls - Magic


	3. Bonus, Bonus Chapter

"I feel like I got hit by a truck."

Danny Fenton, on the mend from a recent bout of the flu, sits slumped over his kitchen table as his mother cooks breakfast. It's bright, slightly chilly, and too damn early for partially sick teens to be out of bed. The scent of bacon wafts around the room as his father, ever the morning person, tinkers at the table with a new ghost hunting invention whistling a chipper tune as he works. For the first time in quite a while, his complaints have nothing to do with a lack of sleep, in fact, it's the opposite.

"If you had slept in your bed last night, maybe you would feel differently, little brother." His sister, Jazz, says to him over the pages of her book.

He narrows his blue eyes at his sister, irritated by how peppy she is at this ungodly hour. (And how dare she nit pick with such unnatural cheer at the crack of dawn). The use of the moniker of 'little brother' isn't much appreciated either. Sometimes, Danny wonders if her implementation of the title is a way for her to feel superior, but then, psychoanalysis is her thing not his and what does he know about it anyhow?

True, he may have slept on the couch last night, but what was he supposed to do? He had been so out of it he was knocked out for thirteen hours straight. Never mind that it was the best sleep he had in months, or that he couldn't have woken up if he had tried, that couch of theirs is fine for sitting and decent for laying, but awful for hibernating.

 _God_ , his neck feels like it's been screwed on the wrong way.

"I was practically unconscious, _Jazz_. What was I supposed to do, sleep walk my way to my bed?" Danny says, with all of the sarcasm of an exhausted, cranky teenager.

"Now Danny, your sister was just trying to give her input, there's no need to be grouchy." Maddie Fenton chimes in from her spot standing over the stove.

Jazz smirks at him over the binding of her novel. Danny sticks his tongue out at her and blows a quiet raspberry in response.

"I still think a ghost did it. What else could have made Danny-boy so sick?" Jack Fenton tones in, having seemingly ignored the majority of the exchange.

"Neglect of personal care, failure to acknowledge symptoms, lack of proper rest and nourishment, and extreme amounts of stress." A thick layer of snark coats every syllable, and Jazz aims a pointed look at her younger brother from across the table.

Danny slouches further into his chair.

Jack looks up completely from the pile of wires and machinery in his lap long enough to give his daughter a blank look and two long blinks, before looking back down to begin tinkering once again. "I'll catch that ghost and make it pay for making my son sick."

Jazz lets out a groan of defeat as she brings her book back up to her face, practically pressing her nose into its pages.

"I'm sure you will, dear." Maddie's voice is fond as she walks over from the stove, pan in hand, giving her husband a gentle, affectionate pat on the arm and a kiss on the cheek. "Breakfast is ready, kids."

Danny gives the pan a wary look, he can only hope that their meal won't try to eat _them_ this time around.

The meal is served, and eaten with the only sound to fill the morning's droning silence being Jack's exuberant voice as he blathers on about ghosts. Having heard half of what he says more than a dozen times (that week), his children let the endless chatter go through one ear and out the other to save brain space and their sanity. Once breakfast is devoured, and the Fenton kids manage to sneak away from the kitchen and their still babbling father – their mother giving them a small smile and wave of farewell – the two of them head out the door and off to school.

The soft hum of the early morning commute fills the air and the chirping of birds greet them as they walk silently down the sidewalk past Fenton Works. It's early spring, the clouds are dark with the promise of light rain, and the morning air still carries the chill of winter. Every blade of grass is covered with an even coating of dew, the faint sunlight warms their hair, and a slight breeze ruffles their clothes playfully. Jazz tightens her scarf around her neck, and adjusts her coat against the cutting gust, while her brother remains completely unaffected and exposed in his usual white short sleeve shirt, and light wash jeans.

And of course, Jazz feels the need to nag him for it.

"You should cover yourself up, Danny, you're hardly over your fever."

Danny roll his eyes, "I'm not cold."

"It doesn't matter if you're cold or not, you can still get sick if you walk around like that," she gestures widely at his attire,"in weather like this."

"Which of us has a cold core again?" He pretends to think about it, "Oh right, I do. That fever was a fluke, Jazz." He says, giving a small sniffle he hopes she doesn't hear.

She narrows her eyes at him, then sighs, "Look, Danny, cold core or not, you can't afford to get sick like that again. You need to take better care of yourself. Let Sam, Tucker, and I handle the little things every now and then."

Danny opens his mouth to protest, but then figures he's not going to get anywhere in this argument and nods in agreement, knowing full well that he's not going to follow through with his promise.

And as always, Jazz knows he won't too.

It's her job to worry about him, seeing as hardly anyone else does. Her parents are so unaware of their own son that—even with his problems being flashed in their faces constantly—they still see little of concern. _She_ isn't even sure if she understands the extent of his issues, and at times she can't help but feel like he's keeping something from her. Perhaps even his friends are unaware. Jazz desperately wants to call his bluff, just this one time, but as she opens her mouth to do so, a puff of visible breath escapes Danny's mouth and she knows it isn't from the frosty air.

He looks to her, and she nods, defeated, knowing what must be done, "I'll tell Tucker and Sam to be ready with an excuse, but please do try to not be late for school again."

Danny nods only half listening, as she sighs and jogs off in the direction of Casper High, praying that her brother isn't hurt too much this time around.

After his sister is out of sight, Danny turns and prepares to run into the nearest alleyway to go ghost, but is stopped when he hears a cheery yip. He watches as an excited Cujo barrels down the sidewalk at him as quickly as his little legs can carry him, and finds himself sighing deeply. Danny had wondered where Cujo had run off to. He wasn't there when Danny had woken up on the couch this morning, and Jazz said that Cujo disappeared sometime after she had gotten home yesterday after school. Danny hoped that meant that Cujo decided to go home on his own for once, but of course he didn't, because when has he ever.

This is going to be either very easy or unnecessarily difficult to deal with. Danny can only pray that it's the former.

"Cujo, what's going on buddy?"

The energetic little pup runs circles around Danny's feet, yipping and yapping all the while. Danny doesn't quite know how to interpret all of it, so he cocks his head to the side and furrows his brow, huffing out a quiet breath. Cujo, obviously having heard it, stops short and tilts his head up to look at Danny, staring for a moment before copying Danny's gestures. Danny, on the other hand, has to hold in a chuckle at the little specter's behavior, cocked head, furrowed brow and all on a small, green face.

Danny's lips quirk at the sight as he feels something warm bubble in his chest.

For a moment he lets himself be taken by the little, green pup before reality smacks him in the face in the form of his ghost sense seconds later. Danny hears the roar of an engine, and sighs, knowing exactly who's coming and what he's going to need to do. So much for getting to school on time.

"Hey, kid!"

Danny lets out a rumbling groan, maybe if he ignores them they'll go away. He begins walking toward school with quick, measured steps.

"Kid, wait up!"

But alas, when does that ever work? A black chopper rolls to a stop next to him, and Danny suddenly realizes there's nothing he can do to avoid them unless he wants to start a conflict. Which, of course, he doesn't.

He lets out a sigh, as he turns around, "What Johnny."

"Hiya Danny!"

Danny peaks around Johnny 13's shoulder to meet red eyes with his own blue ones, "Hi Kitty." His greeting isn't half as enthusiastic as hers, though.

"Aw, come on now, squirt. Arentcha happy to see us?"

Danny gives him a flat look that clearly reads, _no_.

Johnny ruffles Danny's hair with a chuckle and a teasing, easy grin, "Ain't he _cute_?"

"I am _not_ cute," he smacks Johnny's hand away.

"He's _adorable_." Kitty coos, completely ignoring Danny's irritated glare.

With a gushing sigh, Danny crosses his arms, "What do you guys want?"

"We wanted to visit you while you were sick yesterday, ya know, screw around, bug you until you screamed, junk like that," Johnny starts.

"But, we were busy and couldn't make it. So here we are!" Kitty chirps.

He really hadn't needed them around to make him scream, Skulker and Ember had already done a good job of that. Danny scowls at the memory, for as long as he's been dealing with ghosts—for as long as he's _been_ a ghost—he feels like he's learned next to nothing about them. One minute they're ecto blasting him into a wall, the next they're making him soup when he's sick. Danny gets lost in his frustrations for a moment, hardly registering the gentle tugs to his pant leg from a certain green fur ball. Left forgotten on the ground, Cujo feels it's a good time to grab the attention of his friend, or he must seeing as he lets out an echoing bark when his nipping goes unnoticed. Three sets of eyes snap to him almost immediately.

Kitty peaks around Johnny's side to get a better view of the little noise maker, and squeals, "I take it back Danny, _he's_ adorable!"

"Looks like you've got yourself a little escort, kid."

Crouching down, Danny grabs Cujo before he draws too much attention with his yapping, and cradles him to his chest cooing at him softly for a moment to calm him down, "Cujo here likes to follow me around. He was with me all day yesterday."

Kitty wiggles in her seat, "That's so cute! He was worried about you, Danny!"

Johnny glances at his squirming girlfriend out of the corner of his eye, she's very obviously enamored with the little specter. He considers something for a moment before he comes to a decision, "Tell ya what kid, you leave that dog of yours under our care for a while and we'll leave ya alone for the day."

Kitty grins up at him, eyes sparkling. Oh, he was so going to get some thanks for that later.

Cujo looks up at his friend, confused, while Danny contemplates the offer. He gives Danny's hand a lick and in response that same hand gives him a scratch behind the ear.

Honestly, what other option does Danny have?

"All right, fine."

There's another squeal from behind Johnny's back.

"But, if I catch any of you causing trouble, it's back to the Ghost Zone for all of you." He looks ghost biker, ghost passenger, and ghost dog pointedly in the eye. They all nod with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Danny gently hands the excited little fur ball over to Johnny, who passes him back to Kitty, "You got it, kid. See ya on the flip side!"

With a rev of his engine they the pair are off in a flash, leaving Danny alone on the sidewalk with only the echo of 'Seeya 'round Danny!' as his company.

 _Well that was easy_ , Danny thinks to himself.

Maybe he'll be on time to school for once. Danny allows himself a moment of self satisfaction at the thought, cleaning the nonexistent dirt from his jeans.

It's funny how the universe works, really it is. It has a way with irony and coincidence that no one else could even come close to. Unlike most people, though, Danny doesn't quite find its sense of humor all that amusing, he's always the butt of its jokes. In that moment, the school's warning bell rings from a few blocks over and Danny nearly screams out in frustration. So close, he'd been so damn close. He runs into the nearest cranny and changes into his ghost half, with a shout and a flash of light, Danny Phantom is left in his place. Phasing through the nearest building, he speeds through the sky toward Casper High, cursing his bad luck all the way.

Landing into the nearest restroom he checks around for anyone who might see, and shifts back into his human half. After having given himself a once over, he books it down the hall, avoiding the eyes of any teachers who might stop him, and makes it to his homeroom in the nick of time.

Sam and Tucker give him a look as he slides into his usual seat, and both look like they want to ask what kept him, but the late bell rings stopping them short. Danny shakes his head, whispering that he would explain later, as Mr. Lancer comes strolling in, commenting on Danny's absence the previous day and accepting the note of excuse his mother had written that morning.

Danny can only hope that today he might get a break.

* * *

 _Well would you look at that, another chapter. Apparently you all love this fic, and if I'm being honest, I rather love it too. Ask and you shall receive and boy did you ever ask for more. Though, I've stretched this story about as far as it can go, so I don't think I'll be writing any more for it, this was only supposed to be a one shot after all. However, I will be on hiatus for my other running fiction, so that leaves me time to write more for this fandom while I reconsider my other one. Let me know if you want to see more Danny Phantom from me in the future, because I would adore to write more of it. As always feel free to point out any mistakes, I gave this chapter several read throughs, but I could have missed something. Feed back is always appreciated! Until next time,_

 _-Rookie (LS)_

 _I recently changed my account name, just so everyone is aware. Rookthepawn is no more, Lilacspectacles has taken its place._

 _Here's a song I've been loving lately:_

Wintergatan - Starmachine2000


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